


dirt is much cleaner

by helenecixous



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/pseuds/helenecixous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She watches as Annalise retreats into herself bit by bit, and she braces herself, because Annalise is a force of nature. She's a universe in herself; a plethora of emotions and feelings and experiences, and she retracts until she hits her core, and then she obeys the laws of physics and she explodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dirt is much cleaner

She hates Annalise. She hates her with everything she is - she hates the way that Annalise is so superior not just to her, but to everyone, and sometimes she lets herself wish that Annalise would just disappear, that Bonnie would be able to wake up one morning and not have four texts demanding her immediate presence for some meagre task that Annalise could just as well have done herself.

Their relationship is impossible to define. Annalise is Bonnie's boss, always, but Bonnie doesn't think that people usually sleep with their bosses. They're not  _ together,  _ at least not in the way that means they always share a bed and do grocery shopping together, and sometimes Bonnie is sure that the sex they have is little more than a power trip for the both of them. There's no love or tenderness in their touch when they fuck, no real consideration for each other. Bonnie drags her nails across Annalise's shoulders and down her back because she likes the way the blood dries under her fingernails; the fact that Annalise moans each time and presses closer is just subtext - an afterthought, and she knows that when Annalise covers Bonnie’s shoulders in bites and bruises, it’s because she likes feeling the skin break. She also hates the way that even when she's undressed, Annalise looks so put together, and Bonnie can be fully clothed and she  _ knows  _ that out of the two of them, she's always the most exposed. She hates when she wakes up, when she wakes up to a huge and empty bed, and she sees herself out silently. She hates Annalise.

She hates the way Annalise talks to her like she's a child every time she does something that the other woman disapproves of. She hates the way those evenings end up; the two of them drawing blood with their kisses, leaving bruises and broken skin and torn clothes in their wake as Bonnie fights to show her that she's worked for her job, worked to build herself up, and she hates the way that even when Annalise bleeds she's completely impassive.

But what she hates even more than that are the nights that it's different. She can't stand it when they cry, when one of them is worn, defeated by some personal demon. She hates it when she holds Annalise, hates that she  _ cares.  _ And god, does she care. She cares with all her heart - every inch of her that she can spare cares about Annalise, and she can't bear waking up from nightmares shivering, stumbling from bed, collapsing in the bathroom and retching - dry heaving until she throws up half heartedly. She can't bear trembling on the floor until Annalise's arms wrap around her and she joins her on the cold tiles, and she absolutely despises the way she leans into her and sobs.

The days that lead up to Annalise's storms are the worst. Bonnie can see it, sense it. She watches as Annalise retreats into herself bit by bit, and she braces herself, because Annalise is a force of nature. She's a universe in herself; a plethora of emotions and feelings and experiences, and she retracts until she hits her core, and then she obeys the laws of physics and she explodes. And Bonnie hates it. She stays up with Annalise, stays close, attempts to minimise collateral damage by keeping the house empty, keeping cases simple, keeping food on the table and alcohol locked away, and then she endures the sleepless nights and lets Annalise cry and shout and break things. She becomes a shadow, stepping back, detaching but staying near, until Annalise needs her.

It’s around these times, these cracks, these storms, that a fuck becomes more like sex, and sex becomes - not  _ love making,  _ they don’t do that - but it becomes less about getting off and more about finding comfort and reassurance in the physical promise of each other. It’s these nights that begin with wine, and a meal, and they’re slow to take each other apart, and Bonnie can almost convince herself on _ these nights _ that Annalise is just a person. But if she ever arrives at that conclusion, she never stays there for long. There’s an unspoken rule between them; that Bonnie owes Annalise, that Annalise is a force that will eventually destroy everything in her path, and neither of them can imagine  _ settling down.  _ And as she grasps the sheets and tugs them, gasping and arching her back, Bonnie looks down at Annalise’s head between her legs, and she wonders whether Annalise has already destroyed her. She feels like she’s been broken down and reassembled to fit into this new shiny life, she’s learnt how to wear empathy like armour, although not as well as Annalise has. Never as well as Annalise has.

Sometimes she wonders when it was she became an accessory. She lies awake some nights and tries to figure out when she gave up on wanting to be Annalise, tries to pinpoint the exact moment she decided to settle - to endeavour to be  _ with  _ Annalise, in whatever dynamic that's offered to her. She wonders when it became normal to want to hurt the person you love. She wonders when she accepted that she was happy to hate the woman she loves. She wonders whether they're together just because nobody else would have them, whether they're just two bad people doing bad things to each other because nobody else could keep up. She wonders when exactly she fell in love with Annalise.

The thing that she hates most of all, she thinks, is that this is the life she wants. Whether she’s forced herself to or not she can’t remember, but she can’t imagine living without the fucked up imbalance of them both that somehow creates a messy equilibrium, and she hates that she’s never known the kind of relationship that’s built on mutual respect or tenderness, that even as a child there had been that massive power imbalance, and she doesn’t know whether she’d know how to respond to the kind of relationship that they make films about to show on valentine’s day. She hates that she’s sure that she wouldn’t be satisfied with that kind of life, and when she looks into the mirror, looks at the scratches over her arms and the bruises and bites over her neck and breasts, she sees blood on her hands and a perfect calm in her eyes.

She turns away from her reflection and looks over at Annalise, who’s watching her, already dressed and ready with her flawless makeup and meticulously styled hair. Annalise crosses the room, takes Bonnie’s hand and squeezes, and Bonnie’s fingers curl around hers. They meet each other’s eyes, and Bonnie feels herself mirroring the smile on Annalise’s lips, and Annalise leans forward and kisses her jawline, all the way up to her lips, leaving smudges of red lipstick, stark against Bonnie’s pale skin, and Bonnie relaxes. She kisses Annalise back, and takes a second to think about how this crazy thing works, about how they fit together so well, and she hates the way she tugs Annalise closer, hates the way she craves it, hates the way she loves her.


End file.
